


A List of Firsts for Sam Winchester.

by sexualwincest



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, John Dies, Kinda, M/M, Wincest - Freeform, Wincest AU - Freeform, Wincest freeform, oh well lmao i hate that bitch, sam and dean love eachother so much oh gods, wincest poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 18:30:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6999652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sexualwincest/pseuds/sexualwincest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wincest freeform, I really liked writing this actually. It's a list of firsts in Sam Winchester's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A List of Firsts for Sam Winchester.

The first time Sam Winchester kissed his brother, he was six years old. He’d climbed into Dean’s bed after having a nightmare about their dead mother and cuddled up close to him like he always did, because Dean was his protector. He had looked up at his big brother and noticed that his face was peaceful for once as he slept, and he had kissed him softly and quickly, just like he’d seen in movies and television shows. He didn’t understand that kissing like that was only for lovers; he just knew that he loved Dean and that people kiss people they love. “Goodnight, Dean,” he had whispered. He didn’t notice his father walk into the room a moment before, staring in a horrified silence at the sight of his son kissing his other son. 

The first time Sam Winchester saw his brother cry, he was six-and-a-half years old. His father had smacked Dean across the face in a drunken rage; the alcohol coursing through his veins was giving him the guts to let out all of his pent up worry and anger about what he’d seen months ago. To let out his anger about seeing Sam kiss Dean. He screamed about corruption and incest and called Dean disgusting, although Dean had no idea what he was talking about. He’d been asleep during the kiss, after all. But Sam knew. Sam knew, and he hid under the table, terrified that when Dean found out what he’d done he wouldn’t love him anymore. He hadn’t meant to get Dean in trouble, he just wanted to show how much he loved him. Dean pretended that he wasn’t crying, that he’d just gotten something in his eye, but Sam knew. He knew his brother better than he knew himself. He’d crawled into Dean’s bed and pushed his hands away from his eyes, staring into sea green with hazel brown. “I kissed you while you were sleeping,” he said quietly. “It’s all my fault that dad’s mad.” Dean assured him that it wasn’t his fault; he hadn’t known what he was doing.

The first time Sam Winchester stitched up a cut on his brother’s body, he was nine years old. Their father had thrown a broken shard of a beer bottle at Dean during one of his drunken rages that were becoming all too common, and it had pierced Dean’s side through his shirt. Neither of the kids knew what he was always so angry about, because it wasn’t something that they had done, not really. It was the way that they looked at each other, the way that Sam got anxious at school because Dean wasn’t beside him, the way that although they hadn’t kissed since that one night years ago, he could just sense, better than they could themselves, that they were more than brothers. The thought of it sickened their father to the core. “I can’t believe he did this to you,” Sam muttered as he put the needle to Dean’s skin with shaking, inexperienced hands. Dean winced as Sam pulled the needle through flesh, and he shook his head sadly, not saying a word. 

The second time Sam Winchester kissed his brother, he was thirteen years old. And he knew exactly what he was doing. Their father was in the shower and Dean was so close to him as they sat on the couch watching cartoons and Sam knew it was the right thing. He leaned over, pressed his lips to Dean’s, and kissed him. And Dean kissed him back. 

The first time Sam Winchester watched a man die, he was fifteen years old with the gun that was kept in their house for emergencies in his hand, standing over his father, watching the blood spill from the bullet wound in his chest. He didn’t feel sadness, or regret, or panic. “He wouldn’t let us be together,” Sam whispered, eyes cast to the ground as Dean stared at him in horrified silence. “Now we can be together.” And with those words, it didn’t matter how fucked up it was that Sam had killed their father. The only thing that mattered was Sam and Dean.


End file.
